


Pride

by cousinrayray



Series: Common Decency [3]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, C137cest, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, sequel to sequel, stubborn!Rick, they're both such dumbasses guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cousinrayray/pseuds/cousinrayray
Summary: Like all intelligent people, Rick despised and distrusted change.





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Hot damn, guys, I did it. This bitch is finally done. Rick pov this time, third and final part to the Common Decency series. This all started with my strange little brainchild Trust, and it took me for a far longer ride than I expected. 
> 
> I wanna give all the gratitude to those have read and reviewed my sordid little tales so far, for encouraging me to see this through. Hopefully it's an ending worthy of you *casts dubious eye over fic*. 
> 
> Thank you so much!
> 
> (By the way, there's a little piece of dialogue in here inspired by Klei and their wonderful series, Unhealthy Things Taste Better, Anyway. Spot it if you can! And go read their shit, it's da bomb)

Pride

 

Rick stared at the memory gun sitting on his desk. He took another restless swig from his bottle. He was drunker than he would have been a year ago from such a modest amount of alcohol, barely a bottle full. A pussy amount, really. He snorted at the thought. Fitting. 

No point in holding back now, though. Fat lot of good trying to rein in his drinking had done. That ungrateful piece of shit. Rick had put in real effort for his sake. And goddamn it he had actually been doing ok, had actually allowed himself to think he was going to make it, that they would make it out relatively unscathed. 

He swallowed another gulp, still staring at the gun. He wished he had never even built it. Like most everything Rick made, it was efficient, dangerous, perfect. All his stress could be resolved so easily, two seconds of calibration and an instant to pull the trigger. He still had space in the roomful of memories below the basement, though it had been years since he added to them. Morty had stopped needing it as much. So had Rick. 

Suddenly, he snatched the gun up and hurled it against the wall, where it broke with a crash. Like it mattered. He could build a new one in a half hour, tops. But the action was undeniably, damningly satisfying. He consoled himself with another long swig. 

Fucking Morty. That little pecker. He snorted again, he was really on a roll. The bastard was still sleeping, a fact that was conveniently ensured by the subdermal knock-out injector Rick always kept in his room, just in case. Fat lot of good that had done, too. He had looked for it, in those final few seconds of reason before he and Morty started brawling like fucking imbeciles. 

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He blamed the booze, he blamed the missing injector, he especially blamed that goddam shitstain Morty, but he knew perfectly well this was all his doing.

He was the sick fuck that enjoyed sex with his grandson. That despite efforts, couldn't help but do it again. His memory flashed back to just barely an hour ago, when he was riding his grandson like a desperate whore, and a chill made his hair rise. 

God, was that some good sex, though. The juxtaposition of his wimpy grandson being so aggressive had been quite effective. He took another gulp, unconcerned when it flooded into his nose as he began laughing, loudly. He slipped out of his chair onto the floor and continued. 

Rick Sanchez had just gotten laid, gotten his brains screwed out and an open pass for more, had gotten what he wanted in unavoidable accordance with the great law of the multiverse, and here he was moping about it in the garage like a completely useless wishy-washy bitch. Like, like Jerry. He thought of Jerry doing what he had done, what he would continue to do, and stopped laughing. He took another swig, missing his mouth only slightly. 

Rick didn't know what he should do. Well, he knew what he should do, but he didn't know what he would do. 

He knew what he was going to do right now, though. He was gonna continue drinking until he passed out. His thoughts went to Morty, waking up in Rick's room alone, which was inevitable as the injector guaranteed 5 hours of unconsciousness and Rick would be out for way longer than that, and he felt a squirm of something uncomfortable. He drowned it with another hasty chug, almost cracking his teeth on the bottle this time. 

Morty made him stupid. Which didn't bode well for this little endeavor. He was the ‘irrational and passionate’ Rick, right? He was hardly the right person to pull off something this delicate. 

But enough. Enough about the moronic, eternal thorn in his side. When tomorrow came he’d figure shit out. Tonight was for drinking and doing nothing. He reapplied himself to his task with gusto. 

His last thought, when he slipped slowly, gratefully into unconsciousness, was of lonely little Morty, in Rick's tiny narrow bed. 

 

He woke to an arm shaking him roughly, some horrible thing squealing like a dying pig right in his ear. 

“Rick! R-Rick, come on, wake up! Rick! Jesus, Rick, c-come on!”

Of course. 

He reluctantly cracked opened his eyes, his head already killing him. The first thing he saw was Morty’s shiny, stupid face, bent over him. The second thing he saw was his own shirt, which was covered in vomit. 

He wanted to be unconscious again. 

“God, M-Morty, shut up!” He snapped, then winced at his loudness. 

“Are- are you ok?” The insipid moron asked, his eyebrows screwed upwards. 

“No, Morty, I'm dead. You're- you're talking to a fucking ghost.” He said flatly, trying to keep his eyes open. 

He sat up and shoved Morty away from him. At some point the kid had put on pajamas, he noticed, not that he cared. He leaned his head down towards his lap, fighting the nausea that had started swirling with his movement, though the smell from his shirt was making it difficult, and muttered, “I'm just fucking d-dandy. I- I love waking up with a- with a shirt full of puke, and an asshole s-shattering my eardrum.”

Morty huffed, “You, you're fine,” and went off somewhere, hopefully to get a hammer and knock Rick back out. There was a rummaging sound from the other side of the garage and Morty's voice called, “Here.” 

Suddenly, a plastic water bottle beaned him in the back of the head.

“Fuck!”

He turned his even more throbbing head, enraged, but Morty was already closing the garage door behind him. 

 

After about thirty minutes of nursing his hangover in the garage, a very quick stop in his still sex-scented bedroom to grab new clothes, then another hour in the garage pretending he was building something, Rick made himself go find the kid. 

He was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal, flipping channels, and greeted him with a nonchalant “Hey, Rick”, still looking at the tv. It was all so normal-seeming it actually annoyed Rick. Then he was angry at himself. Was he really going to embarrass himself with awkwardness like he did the first time they did this? Was he a fucking teenage girl now, needing to ‘talk about what happened’?

Rick knew what had happened. He had saddled himself with a true fuckton of bullshit. No point hashing over it immediately. He couldn't encapsulate how much it annoyed him that Morty seemed more blasé than he was about this. Was unconcerned, like the blissful idiot he was, like he had been since this nonsense started a year ago. He grunted a reply and went into the kitchen to refill his flask. 

He came back into the living room and noticed that Morty's pajamas were too small, that when he bent over his bowl of cereal the back of his shirt rode up and exposed a few inches of pale skin. He shoved away the twinges of arousal, annoyance, and guilt with the ease of practice. 

He refused to let himself hesitate for even a split second before joining Morty on the couch. Just watch tv, Sanchez. Just be as chill as your rocks-for-brains grandson, it's not that fucking hard. He would not be outdone by a fucking teenager. He sat. He took a drink from his flask. 

“So…. Last night.” Goddam it, he was a complete disgrace. He should just stop now and go into the garage and grow himself a vagina. It was obviously better suited for him. 

“I think- think there’s some shit that needs addressing.” Morty looked away from the tv and at him, still looking so fucking calm, almost bored. God, Rick hated the little shit so fucking much. 

“First of all, M-ourg-rty, you can just- you can go straight to hell. Don't think I haven't realized that- that you've played me for a fucking fool. Scientific exp-experiment, my ass.” 

Fuck. He would not let himself blush. Thankfully Morty didn't even crack a smile, just stared at him, a bit of unease moving across his face. Fucking finally. Feeling a bit better, Rick continued, belching grossly. 

“I-euuuugh-I’m not- not even gonna pretend to kno-ough-ow or care what- what passed for a thought process in your- in the soundless vacuum that is your mind, Morty, that made you decide despite, euugh, you know, all common fucking sense, that this is a good idea.” 

He looked at Morty, waiting to see if any stuttering justifications that he could berate would emerge, but also vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the specifics of how his grandson came to believe this was what he wanted. But Morty just looked at him too calmly, too blankly, waiting right back at him.

God fucking damn it, he hated that tactic. He didn't know when Morty had learned it, but Rick had come to associate it with these damnable conversations, and he needed to stop letting it unset him. He took a calm, lazy gulp from his flask, cool as shit.

“But don't, don't you go thinkin’ you've roped me into something you haven't, b-i-eghh-tch. I- I stand by what I said. I ain't your fucking daddy. And you're not- not my fucking lover, or boyfriend, or equal in any- any conceivable way Mo-ough-rty, you hopeless fucking dimwit. And- and don't think I've forgotten about you fucking assaulting me. Or the water bottle thing, you- you little fuck.” Ok he needed to stop, he was sounding less chill. But he wanted to snipe at Morty. He hated stupid things that he had to care about, and stupid ideas he was roped into by other people. Which was Morty to a fucking tee. His thoughts went back to the broken memory gun. It would only take a half an hour. 

But Morty just smiled and said, “I- I know Rick. Why, why do you keep assuming I’m so- that I'm so boring?” 

That cocky little asshole. Rick watched incredulously as after a pause and what might have been the beginning of a smirk the fucker turned his eyes back to the tv, and resumed eating his cereal.

Rick turned his head back to the tv as well and muttered, “You’re always bo-ough oring, Morty”. He took a drink from his flask. He was not glaring. He was in control. He wanted to fucking do something, something other than this awkward bullshit. Might as well go to work.

He stood and said, “Get up- up off your lazy ass Morty. We got shit to do. Meet me in the garage. Eughhh- take- take more than ten minutes, I'm leavin’ you behind.” in a dismissive tone, then walked out of the room, taking another very casual swig from his flask as he walked away.

He ruined it by calling out, “And- and throw those ugly, old-ass pj’s in the fu-euugh-cking trash. You look like- you look like a total dipshit in them,” as he left the room. He made himself keep walking to the garage before he embarrassed himself any further, taking one long extended chug as he went. 

 

The day’s adventuring went well, like it almost always did. Of course, things went wrong and people got killed and they almost died, but their dynamic was normal. Rick had long since come to depend on Morty when they were out working. The kid had more than proven his capabilities over the years, was by now more sharp-eyed and calculating and cool-headed than any normal adult. Hell, today Rick had seen him manage to sniper shoot a moving target at over 500 yards, then seamlessly turn and disintegrate an alien that had tried to sneak up behind them, one that even Rick hadn't noticed. 

These were the excuses Rick reminded himself of, when they got back into the ship bruised and sweaty and Morty immediately threw on the autopilot and ducked down, unzipping Rick's pants and taking him lustily into his mouth, his hand already palming himself through his jeans, and Rick just let him. The kid seemed to have a downright fetish for sucking him off. 

At least he was good at it. Rick came from it in under ten minutes, as a matter of fact. God he almost wished he hadn't, he thought, as Morty sprang up and began kissing him open-mouthed, shamelessly passing the taste of Rick's own semen to him while Rick responded helplessly. He wished he could flip the twerp around like the fucking slut he was and take him against the-. No.

He pushed Morty off of him, but made sure he didn't do it too roughly. He cleared his throat, “You- you need me to- to get you off?” he said a bit hoarsely. He'd give himself a break on that one, his brains still felt a bit like Morty had sucked them out. 

Morty blushed to the tips of his ears. “No, uh... I, uh, kinda f-finished already,” he stammered, with a chagrined smile. 

Jesus. What a fucking loser. Then Rick remembered this loser had gotten him off in almost record speed, and scowled. He quickly wiped it off his face and pasted on a withering smirk, “Coming in your pants. You know, you never cease to amaze me, Morty, with your commitment to total patheticness. It's- you've made it an art form.” 

Morty just kept smiling, flipped off the autopilot, and got into his seat. It made Rick want to scowl again. 

 

Morty really was a horny, needy slut. Even the presence of the rest of the family was barely a deterrent for him. He would utilize every evening alone, would attack Rick in the ship without warning, one time nearly causing them to die when Rick almost crashed the ship into space debris. He would sneak into Rick's bedroom in the middle of the night, blasély finding and activating the silencer and Rick would wake up to fingers creeping down his pants. 

He had to draw the line at that last one. Risks of being caught aside, he had almost shot Morty three times before he realized the amazingly dense moron wasn't going to stop unless he said something. Morty had pouted, but agreed, though he didn't let Rick go back to sleep until he screwed him through the mattress, “since, you know, y-you’re awake already”.

And Rick let him. He let him every single time. And moreover he found himself affected, like Morty's teenage hormones were contagious. He found himself staring at lips that had been wrapped around his cock the day before and growing uncomfortably hard. Or Morty would be helping him in the garage and would lean over and the skin of his neck would entrance Rick, make him want to suck and bite it. 

He never did, though. He never let himself initiate anything, he just went along with what Morty wanted. It was beyond stupid, it was downright pathetic, but it was about all he had left. Which was, of course, the most pathetic thing of all.

He had chained himself to this teenage menace, let himself be used like a willing and eager blow-up doll. That wasn't too embarrassing. Well, it was at first, but after one particularly intense session in which Morty brought him off without a single touch to his dick, Rick briefly blacking out from the near-painful orgasm, he had decided to just let that go and count his blessings. Rick always knew he was a filthy whore, there was no point angsting over it, and getting plowed by his grandson was certainly kinky enough. And it was a definite rush to be so constantly, aggressively desired. No, what bothered him wasn't his dick but his mind. 

Rick was still a Rick. He was still a selfish, aggressive asshole who did what he wanted and always wanted more. It was what had gotten them in this mess in the first place, Morty's stubborn dumbassery aside. He had been too weak, too sick and perverse to say no to all this, but he drew the line, had to draw some fucking line, and he drew it at pushing himself onto his grandson. He'd accept whatever Morty offered, but he wouldn't let himself go for more. He didn't think Morty would come out nearly as unscathed as he had so far. 

It didn't mean he didn't want to. It took a draining amount of self-control, and part of him lived in constant dread of the day he broke. It didn't mean the whole effort wasn't disgustingly sentimental and probably moot. But he needed something to anchor his self-worth and self-control in, and he had decades of practice in ignoring things. As always, if it worked, why dare fuck with it?

And then Morty went and ruined it. Rick didn't know why it surprised him. 

 

He was working in the garage, telling himself he really should repair that memory gun, since they were bound to get caught eventually if Morty kept up this pace. He could never quite bring himself to do it, however, and he refused to spend time pondering exactly why that was. 

Morty came in and walked over to stand behind him. Rick could feel him dithering and fidgeting and sighed, taking a long drink from his flask before turning around. This was practically guaranteed to be a stupid conversation he wanted no part of. 

Morty just continued fidgeting, turning his hands and meeting Rick's eyes, then glancing away, his mouth opening and closing like a fucking goldfish. “W-What, Morty?!,” Rick finally burst out, “I'm- I’m getting one step closer to the grave with every second you waste remembering ho-ough-w to fuckin’ talk.”

“Rick…,” The insufferable ponce trailed off, and Rick took another another swig to keep himself from snapping again. It would just make whatever this was take even longer. 

“Do you, do you enjoy what we- what we do?” Morty finally got out, managing to meet Rick's gaze. 

Jesus. What kind of nonsense loaded question was that? He rolled his eyes and groaned exasperatedly, hitting the button on his silencer box with a pointed glare at Morty, and said snippily, “First off, did you at- did you by some miracle have the- the ou-ough-nce of foresight to lock the fucking door?” Morty nodded. Rick sighed and took another drink, buying some time. “Well, M-Morty, I gotta hand it to ya, you held out longer than I expected before- before asking stupid meaningless questions like a fucking woman. What the- what the hell is that even supposed to mean? I'm doing it, aren't I?” Unease drifted up his spine.

“Why? You- you over it? Are we done here?” He made himself say casually. Internally he felt a peculiar mixture of dread and relief that he would not examine right now, would never examine if he could get away with it. 

Morty shook his head quickly, “N-No! That-that's not what I mean. It's… Remember that- that first time when I told you not- not to be a r-robot? It's like… I feel like you, you never really stopped.” 

Rick's eyebrows shot up. Wow. “Wellll, M-ough-rty, I'm sorry if G-Grandpa Rick doesn't have the pep in his step you apparently require to fulfill your- to satisfy your sexual needs.” He sneered sarcastically. Holy shit was the kid saying he was a bad lay? He didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. 

Morty looked like he was starting to get angry. “That's- that's not what I mean, Rick. S-stop being- stop it. You know what I mean. You- you never DO anything. Like, you just- you just do what I say, or- or do what I do like- like a fucking robot.” He faltered a moment at Rick's increasingly negative expression, but plowed on before Rick had the chance to say anything. “I- I just want to know why. I'm not an- a total idiot. I know you're- you- you get off on what we do. I know it feels good for you.” He flushed, but continued agitatedly, “So what's your problem?”

For a moment Rick was speechless. Somehow, stupidly he supposed, he had never expected Morty to call him out on this, figured maybe he had the good sense not too. He should have known. Morty didn't have the sense to walk and chew gum without choking on it. 

“My- my problem, Morty, in case you FORGOT, is that I'm- I’m having sex with my fucking 17-year-old g-grandson. What, did you- did you think this was my fucking dream come true? That I would just be- what, abounding with enthusiasm? You- you will never cease to amaze me with how f-fucking self-centered and stupid you are. If you're- if you don't like how I do things you can just fuck right off.”

“Rick, that- that doesn't even make any sense! You- you're full of shit! You- you get off on it, why are you pretending like I- like I twisted your arm-”

“Because you did, M-Morty! You fucking lied and tricked-” He cut himself off. He wasn't comfortable saying this was the all kid's fault and Rick was some innocent victim. That was too much. But, god, the stupid bastard was irritating. 

“You insisted, you-you threw yourself into this when I told you over and over what a terrible idea it was, how fucking dangerous it was. And now, what, you're- you’re mad that I'm, I'm trying to salvage some scrap of decency? Fuck off, Morty.” 

“R-Rick, I-I deserve to-”

He cut him off, “You d-DESERVE jack shit.” He took a swig and continued, leaning forward, “Do- Do you know- do- do you have any idea how lucky you are? You stupid, arrogant shit, do you realize that if you did- if you had any other Rick, odds are a hundred to one you'd be a drooling fucking waste with cheese for memories by now, a-a gaslit, worthless, cum-filled TOY, you- you hapless fool.” 

He bared his teeth, relishing the way Morty's eyes widened. “I am a Bad. Person. Morty. You- you should be on your knees thanking God, thanking your lucky fucking stars that you get to have your pervert cake and f-fucking remember you ate it too! But no, you suicidal ass, you just- you just keep on pushing, keep merrily doing your damndest to get me to fucking ruin you!” 

Jesus fucking Christ what was he doing? What was he saying? This was too much, he was giving up too much. But he was fucking annoyed. Morty really was the dumbest, most foolhardy, miserable thing that had ever crawled across the face of the Earth. God fucking damn it. Maybe he would just fix the fucking memory gun after all, he wasn't sure he could handle Morty remembering this. But the son of a bitch was still talking. 

“Cut the crap, R-Rick! Don't you k-know, don't you realize how-” Morty cut himself off with a shake of his head and started again, waving his hands agitatedly. 

“This is what I'm, what I'm fucking sick of. I'm sick of you bein- p-playing the goddam martyr, of-of acting like you're saving me if you just sit back and- and think of fucking England! It makes no fucking difference! It's- it's so, it's so stupid it's beneath you! We're still h-here, aren't we?! We're still f-fucking, Rick!! You want- you want me on my knees, w-wanna fill me with cum? T-Then be a man and fucking say it! I'd do it g-gladly, I'd do anything you like with a fucking song in my heart, cuz- cuz I accept what I fucking want!” 

He stopped as if he were done, then stepped closer to Rick and started yammering again. “And you- you- you think I don't know who you are? You think it's some big f-fucking s-secret? Who the- who the hell do you think’s been- been standing right next to you the whole time?! Huh?! So just- just get the fuck over yourself!”

He finished, breathing heavily. His face was red and he looked so brash, so fucking self-satisfied Rick knew there was a serious danger he was about to actually hurt the hateful, dumb shit, could feel his fist clenching with the urge to just swing out and punch him in his stupid Morty face over and over because it would be the easiest, most immediately soothing way for this to just be done with. 

Instead he leaned forward and said, hard as ice, “Morty… get the f-fuck out of my face.”

Morty stared at him, eyes blazing. Then he gave an angry huff and walked a few paces away before turning back and adding, “And- and go ahead! Use your f-fucking m-memory gun if YOU can't deal, you- you fucking pussy!” He stormed out of the garage, ducking the gadget Rick hurled enragedly at him without a pause and slamming the door.

Rick sat for a few moments, clenching his jaw and listening to his own too-uneven breathing. With slightly shaking hands he unscrewed the lid to his flask and drained what was left in it. That. That had been unexpected. What a melodramatic, presumptuous little cockstain.

But the thing was, the fucking bitch of it all, was that half his anger was definitely fueled by embarrassment. He was clinging to a lie that was so stupid his shit-for-brains grandson could see through it, had called him out on it. For not the first time since this started, he found himself wondering how much of Morty he actually knew. He was so fucking sick of getting caught off-guard by him. 

More importantly, what kind of Rick was he? Weak and drowning in hesitancy, half holding onto something because he didn't have the balls to push it away. He had severely underestimated how preoccupied he would constantly be by this bullshit. He felt too tightly wound, had felt like that ever since this whole debacle started and he was fucking sick of it.

He got up and rummaged through the garage, looking for another bottle of booze. When he found it, he paused at the weary, drilled reminder to not lose control. He cracked it open in spite and started chugging straight from the bottle. God, he really, really fucking hated Morty. He hated all of this. Fuck it. He didn't need this shit, he never did. 

And without another moment to think about it, still clutching his bottle, he slammed open the door of his ship, got in, and flew off. 

 

Rick was gone for a week. To his exasperation, he found it more difficult than it should have been. No matter where he went or how much booze he drank, his thoughts went back over and over again to that incredibly aggravating little pissant. He had thought that some time and space to breathe would help him regain a bit of clarity, but if anything it made it worse. He would get trashed and catch himself looking for the little bastard. Even more embarrassing, Morty had completely ruined his sex drive. 

For god's sake, he was 60 fucking years old, he had had sex and done things that were so crazy they could barely be recognized as sex with hundreds of beings. He should be so far beyond this shit. But he wasn't. He had become accustomed, addicted even. The whores and hookups he plowed through feverishly weren't cutting it. He actually found himself masturbating to the thought of Morty, something he had successfully resisted until now. He pushed his self-disgust aside tiredly. 

Eventually, he came to the conclusion that there was no point staying off-world any longer. It wasn't helping, it wasn't like he was going to bite the bullet and actually leave for good, and any longer and it would seem like he was hiding away from a fucking teenager (which he absolutely was, his logic reminded him). So he swung the ship towards home, resolutely ignoring how he breathed easier as soon as he breached the atmosphere. 

When he arrived, he was surprised and annoyed to find that apparently he and Morty were home alone. He waited in the garage a bit, drinking heavily and expecting Morty to burst in at any moment, full of childish anger and hurt. But Morty never came. It made him uneasy and want to drink even more, but that fucking nagging voice kicked in before he could let himself get to blackout level. 

Eventually, he was left with no other choice but to hunt the brat down. At this point he was drunk enough to half-welcome further confrontation. He found Morty in the living room, watching that goddamn tv without a care in the world. So that was how they were gonna play this, huh? Rick violently tugged down any messy emotions threatening to undo him before he entered. The only sign of his tenseness was his grip on his flask, which he made himself relax when he noticed it. 

They sat in a mockery of companionable silence, Morty merely asking when he arrived if there was anything in particular he wanted to watch. Rick shrugged, not looking at him, and took a swig. He was fine. He was fine and in control. He would not be outdone. The kid flipped around for awhile, eventually landing on some alien soap opera. 

They watched it. It started with two ugly avatar-looking assholes arguing, then one of them left and the scene changed to the other walking into a room, presumably some sort of bedroom. There was a smaller alien inside, the room decorated in bright colors like this was a child. The taller blue thing knelt down and began speaking gibberish to the child, which responded in kind. They went back and forth talking like this for some time and Rick was about to speak up and tell Morty to change this boring shit when things got weird. 

The larger one suddenly pushed the child down into the floor and leaned over it, it's noises sounding angrier, more aggressive. One of its four hands held it down, while two others began running up and down the anxiously squawking smaller one in a rough, unmistakable manner. It reached out and gave one of its antennae things a hard, slow tug, the child honking ever more loudly, thrashing wildly on the floor. 

“J-Jesus Christ!” Morty stuttered, his hand fumbling for the remote and quickly changing the channel. Rick couldn't help but smirk, though inside he felt much the same. 

“W-What’s wrong, M-ough-rty, did it- did it hit a little close to home? Kinda- kinda makes you a hypocrite, do-ough-n’t it, you know. I thought you were- you were into- euugh- this shit, I thought pe-pedophiles and, and kiddie-rape were totally your thing, bro.” He sneered sarcastically. He knew it was petty, he didn't care. 

Morty just turned, face a bit pale, but a smirk of his own in place. “P-pederasts, Rick. I'm into- you're a pederast. There’s a- a sizeable difference in our dynamic. It's an easy mistake to make, though, if- if you're ignorant on the subject. W-Which I'm not.”

He stared at Rick in blatant challenge. 

Rick struggled to think of a response, whether it was a comeback or just an angry shove, but instead somehow he found himself lurching forward and he grabbed Morty's shirt, pulling him in for what should have been a punch but was instead a rough kiss. 

God he was sick, he was sick to do this and especially sick to do this with a fucking prompt like that but he didn't care, he didn't fucking care anymore. He wasn't sure exactly who he was kissing (his grandson, his brain unhelpfully supplied) but he was Rick fucking Sanchez and he was going for what he wanted and it felt So. Good. It felt like booze after a week of the shakes, it felt like a shot of K-lax right into his fucking aorta and he was out of fucks, he had hit his limit. 

Morty froze for an instant, then began responding frantically, his arms coming up around Rick to clench him closer and moaning like he was about to die. Rick knew how he felt, his own heartbeat was way too fast. 

He pushed his tongue into Morty's mouth, his already somewhat hard dick growing fuller when Morty gave an eager groan and pushed back onto him, toppling Rick backwards on the couch. He began grinding into Rick as they kissed, his face already flushed and his hand shaking with eagerness as it fumbled desperately between them, finding Rick's clothed cock and grabbing at it. Rick let out a hiss, let his own hand snake down to grab Morty's ass, eliciting a gasp that melted into a moaning “Yesss”. Morty's hands reached to Rick's belt, and he broke off the kiss to look down as his twitching fingers tried to undo Rick's pants as fast as possible, apparently.

Rick suddenly had a better idea. He had yet to do this. Morty had never asked for it, somehow, and Rick was going for it before he could let himself think about it.  
He stopped Morty's hands and pushed them both upright. He couldn't resist the smirk on his face as he grabbed Morty's legs and swung them around, kneeling on the floor between them. 

As he began taking off Morty's pants he heard a small gasp of surprise above him, heard Morty's fists already clench in anticipation, and his smirk deepened. He was gonna make the little punk lose his fucking shit. He slid the pants down and after making one last concession to himself to quickly mutter “Don't want it, s-say it, kick me, whatever”, he leaned forward and took his grandson’s cock in his mouth. He sucked with firm, pulsing pressure, his other hand coming up to cup underneath it. 

A bizarre, ungainly choking noise came from Morty at the first touch of his lips and his hips jerked forward. Rick controlled the smirk that threatened to break his suction, his other hand coming up to grab and press down hard on Morty's hipbone, earning himself a shuddering inhalation from his grandson. He continued sucking, bobbing up and down, enjoying the feel and taste of Morty far too much, his own cock throbbing inside his pants. He swirled his tongue around and over the head, flicking the tip of it into the slit. Morty made another strange gasping moan, his hands scrabbling for purchase, hips twitching against Rick's hand futilely.

Jesus Goddam Christ, this was too much fun, he was a fucking moron for not doing this immediately. His previous concerns felt far off, drowned by his arousal and the sight, the sounds of Morty coming apart at the seams so deliciously. Rick resumed moving up and down the shaft, humming lowly, while simultaneously beginning to fondle his balls, encircling and tugging on them. Morty panted and squirmed and moaned above him. 

“Ahh, God, R-Rick! H-holy shit!” the kid said somewhat shrilly, when Rick pulled off his dick and took his balls into his mouth, sucking one then the other in and rolling them lightly with his tongue while his hand jerked Morty off. Heh. He knew that one would make him freak out. 

He could feel Morty's thighs trembling and knew the boys orgasm was approaching fast. Already. It felt absurdly satisfying to know and his arousal flared higher. But he ignored it and stopped tonguing Morty's balls, his hand slowing to a stop as the trembling intensified, then leaving entirely. 

Morty looked down at him, panic and frustration all over his face. Rick just grinned like a shark and planted both his hands on Morty's hips firmly, leaning down till his partly-open mouth was barely an inch from the boy’s straining erection. “No,” He admonished roughly, looking up when Morty's hands fisted into his hair and tried to push his head down.

“Touch my head, and I'll- and I'll stop.” His grin grew wider at Morty's loud groan. Turnabout was more than fair play, and the little shit had certainly teased him often enough. He leaned back down and breathed hard, Morty's erection twitching with every movement of air. Morty's thighs and legs were shaking, his whole body was shaking, his hands tightly clenched. 

He leaned closer, a bare millimeter away, then back out again, relishing the whimper, and feeling Morty's eyes burning into him. He bent a bit lower and stuck out his tongue, then slowly licked Morty's cock from base to tip and the whimper became a near-sob, his hips jerking futilely. 

He continued teasing, a breath here, a nibble or brief lick there. Morty was breathing so fast he was almost hyperventilating, his feet twisting spastically. He was so tightly wound Rick knew it would take almost nothing to push him over the edge. But he was gonna make him wait, it was too satisfying not to. 

Or, at least, that was his plan. But then Morty murmured in a ragged, keening voice, “F-Fuck, R-R-Rick, P-pleease…” his face an agony of arousal, and it was too much for Rick, he found his self-control breaking as he enveloped Morty's dick in his mouth once more, sucking hard four times as Morty shrieked, then came in his mouth, gasping and almost crying, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his legs flailing and his hands grasping at the air. 

It made Rick want to roar with satisfaction and nearly made him come in his pants. He continued suckling gently as he fumbled himself out of his pants and jerked off roughly to Morty's little gasps, coming quickly as he breathed harsh pants through his nose. 

It took less than thirty seconds for his brain to kick back in as he came down and he pulled back and looked up at Morty's face. Morty was slumped on the couch, red and still breathing hard, his expression dazed and blissed out, an odd smile playing around the edges of his mouth. 

That made Rick uncomfortable. He wondered if Morty was about to be smug, to say ‘told you so’ or otherwise try to rub his face in things. It's what Rick would likely do, after all. He braced himself to become angry. 

But Morty just pulled his pants back up and reached down with unreadable eyes, grasping Rick's arm and pulling him back up to sit beside him on the couch, then giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and turning back to the tv. And Rick, nonplussed, let him. 

 

The three weeks that followed were some of the most surreal, yet most pleasant of his life. He wasn't sure if he was most taken aback by what had changed, or what hadn't. 

The effects of the lessening of his stress were more significant than he had expected. He wasn't built for that kind of long-term obsessive worry and guilt. The first time he realized he had actually gone an entire day without wondering whether or not he was ruining the pissant, he could have cried in relief. And Morty seemed happier too, less frenetic than before, and he never tried to lord this new development over him, which just soothed Rick further. He felt fucking alive again, re-energized. 

These changes were made even more improbable by how few external changes had occurred. He had, in fact, only rarely exercised his new privileges, an occasional blowjob here (he would never admit it, but it had quickly become his favorite activity), a stolen, way-too-erotic-for-how-juvenile-it-was make out session there. Unremarkable shit, honestly, but it seemed to more than satisfy both of them. It practically flew in the face of what Rick thought he knew about himself, were he inclined to read into it. 

But he wasn't. He was in a bliss of near-balance, letting himself indulge in what he wanted with a shaky-but-there confidence that, at least for now, it was ok to. He knew good things never lasted, but he couldn't even work up much anxiety at the thought. He was too wrung out, too strung out. And at least this time, he had a pretty good idea what new problem was next in line. 

Rick wasn't surprised when Morty asked him. Knowing it was coming, though, hadn't prompted him to plan much for it. Maybe he had figured there was no point, that it was better to wait and see how the situation presented itself. Maybe he just didn't want to think about something stressful while he was finally feeling so good. Either way, when Morty interrupted their kissing one evening alone in Rick's room to ask if the man would fuck him, he didn't have a response planned. 

Rick felt the stirrings of that familiar fear-tinged lust, that fascinated dread of fucking up that he would probably never be rid of. He wondered if the little shit had any idea what he was asking, though he knew that these days he couldn't be sure either way. And he started to say no, just to be safe. 

He couldn't be entirely certain nowadays of many fundamental assumptions he had always made about Morty, it was true. But wasn't that just what he wanted to think? Where would they be now if he had succeeded in fucking Morty that first night? Maybe he wasn't as sure the answer was ‘somewhere awful’ as he had been in the past, but how valid was that feeling? How untainted? Should he, could he, really take that risk? 

On one side stood bedrock facts he had always known about himself and his relationships with others. On the other side stood Morty. It was an impossible choice. He had spent so much mental energy trying to navigate it. 

But as he looked at Morty, looked at his familiar, yet still unfamiliarly patient face, Rick realized that he could have saved himself a lot of time and energy. He didn't really have much of a choice at all. He hadn't for a long time.

He would, of course, do what he had done for years, had been unable to help but do ever since he moved into his daughter’s house, had in fact been doing throughout all this, whether or not he wanted to admit it. 

He would stand beside the kid. 

 

That didn't mean he wasn't nervous, when he nodded in response to Morty's request. His heart felt high in his throat, his palms were already sweaty and his dick already stirring. He needed to reel it the fuck in. Shit, he probably wasn't nearly drunk enough for this. 

Morty looked shocked that he had agreed so easily. Part of Rick was inclined to feel the same, but he felt oddly powerless, fatalistic. 

It was fitting, then, that he almost felt like he was watching from outside himself as he responded to Morty's sudden, nervous, eager kiss, as his hand came up to cup the boy’s face, feeling it soft and warm under his hand, while Morty's mouth was hot, hasty, and demanding as always. 

His hand was a marked contrast to the boy’s skin, it always had been, pale and wrinkled and spidery against the life he could practically see emanating from Morty's body, and he had never known what to think about it, he still didn't. 

But he was no longer convinced that it mattered. What mattered was the panting, needy, unavoidably erotic grandson in front of him, who was currently trying to take off Rick's shirt without breaking the kiss, apparently. Awareness and amusement pulsed back into Rick, and he pulled back with a smirk and a soon-muffled “Jesus Christ you eager fucking beaver” as Morty tugged his shirt up roughly, Rick lifting his arms in acquiescence. He waited with amused patience as Morty shucked his own shirt and pants with equal haste, then threw himself back at his grandfather, holding and kissing him fiercely, as if he thought one of them would change their mind if not sufficiently distracted. 

Rick let him for a while, then broke the kiss with a somewhat shaky smirk and said, “Calm your tits, k-killer. No, no need to rush.” Morty nodded in the same eager and mindless fashion as he had been kissing, which made Rick snort. 

He pushed Morty backwards and Morty fell back with a plop, grinning. Rick gave him a small smirk back, more of a smile honestly, but that was ok, they could both probably use a bit of reassurance, and set himself to his task. If he was going to do this, he damned well was gonna do it right. 

He bent over Morty and gave him one last brief, scorching kiss, then began kissing softly down his neck while his hand trailed up and down his chest. He moved ever so slowly downwards, kissing shoulder then chest, briefly latching onto a nipple then moving on while Morty gave little gasps above him and caressed his hair. Part of Rick wanted to shy away from such gentleness, such solicitousness, it felt alarming and uncomfortably exposing for him. But he would do it for Morty. He lingered on Morty's chest, kissing here and there while his hand drifted southwards to Morty's dick. Morty's hands clenched painfully in his hair with a yelp when Rick took it in hand and began giving it slow, thorough strokes, and Rick couldn't help but grin, relieved to be back on more familiar territory. 

He debated giving his grandson a blowjob. That was always fun for everyone, and he began to bend down into position when Morty stopped him with another, deliberate tug on his hair. 

“I, d-don't do too much. I-I want to last,” he said, blushing. Rick was torn between amusement and concern.

“You know, Morty,” he responded, hearing his voice reflecting his mixed emotions, “Not that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm, but it's- this shit can be kinda painful. At least when you're starting out. I don't, I don't know if you remember,” God why did he bring that up. He was making himself anxious. “But it's- it's- it's not likely you're gonna cum wildly as soon as I'm in you.” Now he was blushing, way to fucking go, Rick, what a smooth goddamn operator. Get your shit together. 

At least Morty was blushing as well. “I-I guess. But still, just, don't- don't tease me too much.”

If that wasn't a perfect opener Rick didn't know what was, and he couldn't help but smile devilishly. “You're, you're just talking gibberish now, Morty. I would never- when have I ever teased you?” Morty just rolled his eyes, making Rick actually let out a chuckle. 

He had a nagging sense that he was way too comfortable, that this felt much easier so far than it should feel. That wasn't nearly a good enough reason to stop, though, so he continued. 

He decided against the blowjob after one teasing lick had Morty shouting out in somewhat panicked arousal. Fuck, the kid was pretty wound up. They had hardly done anything yet. Rick tried to recall if he had been this eager the first time he had gotten fucked by a man and couldn't remember, though he doubted he had been quite so needy and uncontrolled.

But Morty was, well, Morty, and Rick decided to take pity on the red-faced boy and speed things up a bit. He was hardly about to complain about not having to make things all drawn out and schmaltzy, though a tiny, almost unnoticeable part of him felt an odd thread of near-disappointment. 

He pulled Morty closer to him, so his hips were tilted up against Rick's legs, and ran his hands along the insides of Morty’s thighs. Morty let out a soft sigh, and when Rick looked up at his face he felt himself flush. Morty was staring not at his hands, but directly at him, chewing on his lip and still red-faced, but his eyes were filled with emotion. 

Rick didn't know exactly what emotions they were but he looked away quickly, drawing in a suddenly much more shaky breath and trying, yet again, to refocus on his task. He brought his hand down closer to Morty's anus.

Morty's voice startled him when he suddenly spoke, “W-Wait.” Rick jumped a bit and froze, his eyes flying to Morty's face. Fuck, was he changing his mind?

“Can we- can we do it the other way? Like, o-on my hands and knees?” He looked embarrassed to be asking, like he thought Rick would yell at him, and to be honest Rick did find the idea a bit disquieting, though he couldn't say why. Something of it must have shown on his face, though, because Morty added in a somewhat nervous babble, “It's not- I just, I just figured, well, i-it is supposed to be easier, right?” 

That was perfectly logical, and Rick chided himself wearily for being, yet again, apparently less cool-headed than his fucking grandson as he nodded and said, “Yeah, sure. W-whatever you like,” trying to sound more blasé than he felt. 

Morty flashed him a quick, nervous smile and turned around, settling self-consciously on his hands and knees. Rick could see the blush spreading down the back of his neck all the way to his shoulders, and ordinarily would have laughed at his grandson's useless, childish mortification, but he was a bit distracted by the sudden reality of Morty's ass in his face and the line of his back leading away from him. It was… quite arousing, yet unsettling. 

Mostly to make himself do something other than gawk like a moron, he cleared his throat and said somewhat hoarsely, “Get- you, you should put your face down on the bed. Angle’s better that way.” Morty complied with a muffled, embarrassed ‘Oh, jeez’, and after he did Rick didn't let himself hesitate before spreading the boy's cheeks and licking just off the side of his asshole. 

The surprised yelp from Morty made him smirk, reassured him that this would be a fun way to proceed, and he did, licking a circle around his anus before pressing the tip of his tongue directly up against it. 

Morty shivered and gasped all through it, and when Rick's tongue began teasing forward and back with just a bit of pressure, threatening to dip inside but never quite pushing through, he let out a deep, swallowed moan and his hips began to rock back and forth, as if to encourage Rick. 

Rick found it more than encouraging, his cock was already an achy, needy rock in his far-too-constraining pants. Though, when he finally drove his tongue inside and Morty responded with a high-pitched, cracked repetition of “Oh j-jeez!” he almost burst out laughing. He tongued his grandson with enthusiasm, relishing the way Morty twitched around him, the needy little squeaks he gave and the way his hips rocked back helplessly, spearing himself on Rick's tongue. 

God he wished he had a free hand, his cock was becoming a nuisance. Well, he should probably move on anyway, both of them were getting a bit too worked up, it would be counterproductive soon. He pulled back somewhat reluctantly, unable to help but groan as he watched Morty's ass follow him mindlessly for a second, then shimmied backwards and shucked off his pants, sighing a little in relief when his dick sprang free. 

He didn't miss how Morty tensed at the sound, and became even more tense when he reached over and grabbed a palmful of lube before settling back behind him. “Don't- don't get too excited,” he said, “Still got some work to do before the main event”. Morty's spine dipped lower as some of the tension left him, and Rick, satisfied, proceeded. 

He pushed a finger in slowly but steadily, though he needn't have bothered going so slow, the kid was fairly loose from before. So after just a few pumps he added another, and then he felt a bit of reflexive resistance from the muscle as he began scissoring, Morty grunting. His mind flashed again, unwillingly, to that first night. He really, really didn't want a repeat of that, so he crooked his fingers, searching for Morty's prostate. He knew he found it when he heard a moan tinged with surprise and Morty's ass lurched suddenly backwards. 

Rick grinned and said, “P-pretty awesome, ain't it? You know, for, for someone as good at finding other people's, you're surprisingly naive about your own.” Then he blushed as soon as he realized what he had said. Oh well. It wasn't like it was some secret that Rick enjoyed getting screwed by his grandson. 

He continued pushing in and out of him, lingering over his prostate with every few thrusts, clamping his lips to avoid responding in kind to the loud groan Morty gave each time. Then he added a third finger, though all too quickly Morty pulled his head up and panted, “Rick, you gotta-you gotta go on. I-I can't wait much more.”

Rick stopped and removed his fingers. As he leaned back, took a breath and grabbed his throbbing, waiting cock, a sudden wash of intense nervousness flooded through him and he stammered, “You- you, Morty, are you sure this is what you want?”

“Jesus C-Christ Rick, yes!” Morty almost yelled into the pillow, and Rick should have felt annoyed but he just felt a flicker of bemusement. He still paused for a moment. He wished he could fully see Morty's face, if only to reassure himself that he should proceed. His grandson's back was beautiful, young, smooth, but it felt almost like it didn't belong to him. 

Shaking off his useless, distracting thoughts, he lined up his cock, and pushed slowly into the tight, enveloping warmth. Morty grunted and sucked in a breath, going taut as a bowstring beneath him, and Rick paused after he had seated himself almost entirely in. 

As he waited, allowing Morty to adjust, he felt the impossible, spasming heat around him, saw the impossible curve of his grandson poised and panting beneath him, he registered his own reaction. It wasn't grinding fear and nausea. It wasn't conquering euphoria and satisfaction. 

He wasn't sure what it was, to be honest. He felt prickly and shaky and kind of unbalanced, like his skin was too tight or he had the flu or something, and something in his abdomen felt hot and tense. He took a half second to be amused at the idea that right now would be the moment he'd actually snuff it. 

His body was shaking as they both stayed frozen, as the moment stretched into infinity, and though he told himself he was quivering simply from the urge to push, he was still driven by some unknowable impulse to bend over and place a slow, trembling kiss on Morty's pale, smooth shoulder. 

The moment broke with Morty’s ragged exhale and jerky nod, and Rick began giving slow, shallow thrusts, placing his hands on either side of Morty's ass. As he moved, he felt Morty's body gradually loosen around him and somehow that made him give a shaky, deep exhale of his own, the heat in his chest easing to a warmth. 

He couldn't stop staring, as he slowly began giving fuller and faster thrusts. His eyes weren't drawn to the sight of his cock plunging in and out of his grandson, though that was certainly compelling, but to the sight of Morty, his rippling back and his red face, peeking out as it was turned to the side with eyes clenched shut. 

Still staring, he angled his cock downwards and watched, fascinated, as Morty's expression contorted and his lips opened to let out a guttural moan, “Oh, f-fuck, Rick”. 

Rick felt his cock throb in response, and felt Morty's walls clamp in response to that, and they both groaned almost in sync, and it was just too much. He began thrusting faster, hearing and feeling Morty pant harder and as he watched him fall apart he felt himself start to fall apart. 

Moans were falling of his mouth unconcernedly, mixing with Morty's higher, gasping ones and the sounds of their bodies hitting together and Rick could hear everything, could feel everything, from Morty's skin under his hands to his ass clenched around his dick to his slender legs pushing back against his own and it felt so terribly wonderful, everything clicking together into an overtone that was tearing him apart. 

His brain was running in tight circles of need and pleasure and Morty, Morty, Morty, and it was too much, he wasn't prepared for this and he was right, this kid was going to drive him insane, had already driven him insane, he could feel something tearing loose and he suddenly knew with terrifying certainty that Morty could ask anything of him, anything at all, and he'd do it without a thought. 

But there was no time to worry about it now, his orgasm was hurtling towards him quickly and he reached around blindly for Morty's cock. Though his whole body was clenching he somehow had the presence of mind not to grab too tightly, he just wrapped his shaking hand around the boy and felt him start to thrust into it with a hoarse, panting, “Oh J-Jesus, R-Rick, I, you, I-.”

And in less than a minute his walls slammed down onto Rick and he came with a broken scream he muffled into the pillow, his body bucking forwards and backwards and Rick just clung on desperately, feeling his grandson's cum coat his fingers, part of him wishing faintly he could have heard that scream unmuffled. 

His heart was racing and he pounded into Morty's body like he had seconds to live. For all he knew, he did, it wouldn't surprise him. That warmth in his chest was spreading throughout his body, and he was old, and this was all so surreal, so supersaturated it would only be fair if it killed him. With a sudden brutal push, Morty gasping, he came with a hoarse moan that scraped and hollowed him out, bolts of energy fleeing down his body and out of his cock. His hips jerked as he fell forward, Morty supporting his weight while he reeled, panting. 

Blinking stupidly, rapidly, he pulled himself back together and started to lift himself off of Morty, his first thought that he was far too old for this shit. 

His second thought was that he had perhaps gravely misunderstood the dangers of this all along. He had never considered that he could be the one in danger of losing his will. 

It was stupid of him, he should have. Rick had always thrown himself into his few, intense affairs. And he had always had an irrational attachment to Morty, a deep, constant need. He was truly fucked, now. As long as Morty wanted this, Rick was never getting out.

But he couldn't find it in him to be angry, at himself or Morty, as he felt the warmth lingering in his body and he realized that he was still inside Morty, who was limp, close-eyed and quiescent beneath him with an odd smile on his face. He began pulling out slowly as Morty groaned softly, his chest tightening a bit at the sound. But Rick didn't have the energy or desire to give that little tidbit much thought so he just eased out of his sweaty grandson with a bit of a grunt and collapsed next to him. 

He felt tired beyond belief, satisfied and wrung out to the bone, and more than anything he just wanted to go to sleep. So of course, after misleading Rick with a grab and settling of the blanket, Morty leaned back, put his arms behind his head, and started jabbering like an idiot. 

“S-Shit, that was great, you know, Rick?” he said with a smile edging between content and smug, “Like, I don't- I don't know about you, but, that was just a, a lot of fun. I guess, I guess it's like they say, ‘w-waiting for something makes it more exciting’, you know?”

Rick rolled his eyes and lifted a brow. Of course the little shit had to try and be smug now. “Really, Morty? You're gonna- you're lazily paraphrasing fucking Andy Warhol at me? How long did you plan, how-how many research hours on google was that little gem?” The corny nerd couldn't just let him pass out.

“And what a- a fucking tragedy that it took longer than you wanted for me to get over my- my unreasonable, just fucking bizarre unease with plowing my own fucking flesh and blood, Morty.”

“Flesh and blood? Oh, c-come on, Rick. Like I'm even your original Morty.” The little lunatic teased with a yawning smirk. What an unbelievable fucker.

Rick tried to sigh disgustedly, but he knew it came out more affectionate. And he knew Morty would be able to tell. And he was… ok with that. 

“Morty, you’re a fucking idiot.” He moved closer and almost kissed his messy brown hair, but stopped himself at the last moment. No need to throw all his cards on the table at once. Instead he threw his arm around his grandson, pulled him in close, and turned off the light, smirking to himself at Morty's sleepy, mumbled, “You too, Rick.”

As he lay there in the dark, spooned up against his grandson in his tiny cot, it felt… nice. Way more than nice, which might still be a problem. 

But Rick found he was too tired, and far too content, to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Rick might be an emotionally constipated headcase, but I can't help but love him. I might do some one shots some day, because I'm an obsessive glutton for punishment, but the main tale is told. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! Reviews, comments, and criticisms are always welcome.


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